No one really understands the grief or joy of another. We always imagine that we are approaching some other, but our lines of travel are actually parallel.

Anyone who loves music can never be quite unhappy.

Who can do anything after Beethoven?

There is no such thing as happy music.

You believe happiness to be derived from the place in which once you have been happy, but in truth it is centered in ourselves.

Every night when I go to bed, I hope that I may never wake again, and every morning renews my grief.

I am composing like a god, as if it simply had to be done as it has been done.